The Missing Link
by Ieatvampiresforbreakfast
Summary: "Why did you choose to abandon SHIELD in favour of HYDRA?" For Cerina that's a hard question to answer, first it was fear, then it was insecurity and finally it was love. However when HYDRA steals that as well as the freedom she's already lost, everything is called into question. It's hard to sum up but there's mystery, action and a bit of (non typical) romance. Eventual WS/OC.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Cerina is derived from a gaelic name Cerin and is pronounced Sereena. This chapter takes place just after Cap, Black Widow and Falcon have been taken to Fury after their run in with the Winter Soldier. The bionic eyes are something that I've borrowed from Agents of Shield, they basically have the ability to send a live stream of what the person is seeing to a computer, if the person with the implants doesn't follow orders they can be detonated, killing said person.

Sorry if you thought I'd updated, I was just sorting out some formatting errors.

Um...I think that's everything! I hope you like it!

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Chapter One: Shrapnel

It had been years since the jagged pieces of metal had sliced open her eyes but Cerina Jacobson was still feeling the aftereffects. In the mirror glass on one side of the small grey holding room she could see her reflection. Black hair, usually sleek but now slightly ruffled from the long journey (she had been blindfolded for most of it.) trailed down lazily over her shoulders. She started to comb through it roughly with her fingers but stopped when twinges of pain reminded her of gravel scraping her palms. She rubbed angrily at the scabs on her hands and surveyed the room for the fortieth time. The bare desk and spotless walls held her attention for approximately five milliseconds so before she knew it the ex-soldier was again scanning her reflection. An angular face, divided by white scar lines, greeted her. She stared into eyes that stared back, they were dark eyes, grey-black with tiny flecks of gold. They were not the eyes she had been born with, that flesh had been weak and watery and easy to kill, but of course that flesh had not had the ability to blow a hole in her brain.

It was hard for Cerina to decide if she hated her new eyes or not. The blackness she'd been forced to bear since she got blasted by a landmine in Afghanistan had nearly driven her insane but the bionic eyes hadn't been much better. The gold flecks were, in fact, tiny wires, soldered by delicate hands into a circuit board that made up her iris. She closed her eyelids over the visual representation of her enslavement and remembered.

Two years ago, after she had been flown back to the US, a man with a husky voice and an interesting offer had arrived at the military rehabilitation centre in Northern Michigan.  
"How'd you like to see again?" he'd asked. "My people could make that happen."

She'd laughed and said it was impossible, she'd asked for the nurse to show him out but in the end she'd said: "Yes." After it'd been done and silicon and metal had been looped into her brain and implanted into the empty sockets the man had been the first thing Cerina had seen since yellow sands and red blood. He was tall and in a long black coat with a patch over one eye. Weeks later, when Cerina had learned that his name was Fury and his people were S.H.I.E.L.D, she'd asked why he'd given her the eyes and not had one for himself, he shrugged.  
"I've done great things with one eye. Imagine what you can do with two."

That memory left her with a bitter aftertaste and she couldn't stand her face any longer so Cerina turned and dropped onto the plastic chair next to the desk. She spent a while like that, head pulled back staring at the ceiling.

After leaving her to stew for an hour or a decade, she couldn't tell which, a bald man with angry eyebrows entered. He had a file in one hand and the other was hovering over his holster where a magnum was encased.  
"Hi." She drawled and pushed back the chair, like she was a highschooler in math class, beyond bored of what the teacher had to say.  
"Jacobson, you are being held at Agent Hill's command, she has asked me to...interview you." Judging by the vein that was pulsing in his right temple, he thought that Cerina deserved more than an interview.  
"Fine. I'm Cerina, and you are?" She asked sardonically and stuck out her hand for him to shake.  
"Not interested in names, just facts." The man hadn't even bothered to look her in the face, he merely pulled up a chair and laid his handgun on the table for the whole world to see. Perhaps if Cerina valued her life more she would feel intimidated, she didn't so the loaded weapon, pointing at her abdomen, meant nothing to her.  
"Why did you choose to abandon SHIELD in favour of the Papillons and later HYDRA?" Cerina remained quiet so the question could hang there for a few seconds then let her chair fall back to the floor, the front two legs making a bang that reverberated around the cell.

"Firstly I had no choice. Secondly, its Les Papillons, they're French. Thirdly_Les_ Papillons are part of HYDRA, a cell I think the word is." Cerina leaned forward, trying to get a reaction out of the agent, he did not indulge her and returned to the file.  
"After...the cell" she was pleased to hear some annoyance in his tone and even better was his reticence to say the organization's name now that she had corrected him. "was crippled by Inachis' disappearance you were spotted in New York along with the Winter Soldier, what was your purpose there?" In a heartbeat any smugness was gone. New York was private. This agent, working for Maria Hill or not, would get no information from her. The man she'd fallen in love with there was dead, she alone knew what had happened and she would take it to her grave, just as he had. Cerina pursed her lips and looked away from the file that had previously held her gaze.  
"Did you work with the weapon?" She jumped up, electrocuted by his use of the word.  
"Weapon! He wasn't a damned weapon, he was a person!" Cerina howled, her palms stung from slamming them down on the table.  
"Sit down, Jacobson." A voice crackled through a speaker next to the mirror glass. If it had been any other voice she might have laughed and stuck up her middle finger at the small audience who must have been assembled behind the screen. But it wasn't any other voice, she knew that one:  
_"I've done great things with one eye, imagine what you can do with two."_

Fury. Her knees buckled and again she hit the chair with force.  
"I...I worked with him. I got stuff ready, plane tickets and...and...well, I was his link to the Heads. Their instructions would flash up in front of my eyes and they always said that if I didn't follow them they'd flick the switch and detonate the eyes." If she'd still had the ability she might have cried.  
"Alright I think we're done for now." Said a woman, also through the intercom.

Cerina's interrogator looked like he would have liked to press on with the questions but then Hill entered and verbally kicked him out.  
"Wait, Pine, she might need the file." Maria held out a hand to stop the man leaving. With a scowl Pine threw the folder back down, tucked the magnum back into the holster and stalked out.  
"What's his problem?" Cerina tried to heave some cockiness back into her tone but it sounded shaky at best.  
"The mission that you defected during was the one where his sister died." The senior agent shrugged as if to say 'it could happen to anyone.' "Usually I try to keep personal matters separate, Fury or me couldn't interview you, we want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Which is perhaps more than you deserve. As you can probably tell we are a bit understaffed at the moment, he was the best one here." Cerina swallowed and clasped her hands, painfully tight, under the table.

"We're going to need a full account." The woman took out a notebook and pen from inside her jacket.  
"Of what?" Cerina questioned as the last two years flashed through her mind.  
"Of everything."

-x-

Please review, it helps me stay inspired and makes me update faster. I really hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm planning to update about every weekend, but I won't be sticking to that religiously because exams. This chapter and almost all the other ones will be told from Cerina's POV, as though she is telling the story starting from two years ago. If you have any questions or are a bit confused PM or drop me a comment and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Chapter Two: Butterflies

In the first six months there was no sign of what the eyes would later become. I progressed through training quickly, I'd already been a sniper in Afghanistan so it was easy to adapt to working in an intelligence agency. I was a born liar and, although I'd always liked athletics better than martial arts, had got a good grip on the hybrid system they taught at the academy. Psychological analysis took longer, I think some strings might have been pulled there, usually PTSD is treated with a bit more anxiety than it was in my case. Anyway for my first mission I was the covering sniper for a small team of experienced agents, our mission was to prevent an arms deal going down in Greece.

"Blackbird, you still got eyes on Inachis?" Montgomery, who was currently a tiny brown speck on the plaza below, whispered into his hidden com.  
"Yes sir, red spot trained on his ugly face as I speak." Although I was alone, lying on my belly, a snipers rifle cradled in the crook of my shoulder I couldn't help but smile, it felt so good to be back in the field. The dense black plastic stock was pressed hard into my shoulder, I liked it, the rifle felt like part of me, like it was supposed to be there.

In the square below, my team circled, there was Montgomery, a burly man who'd worked at SHIELD for years but always refused promotions, he liked ground work he insisted. Then there was Mya, we'd borrowed her from the explosives division to diffuse a bomb in case Inachis was tricking us and his briefcase actually contained explosives. Next came Peter Shelley, my SO and an all rounder who didn't have much of a personality, apparently he liked to keep work and play separate. Lastly came Brown, he looked far too engrossed in the Greek newspaper he was reading to effectively be monitoring the deputy of HYDRA's French terrorist cell.

Athens glowed around me, the midday sun beating down on brick and skin alike. In the square, a slender man with big splotchy birthmarks and pitted cheeks from acne or pox stopped to examine a stall laden with secondhand books. I followed his movement with my sight and watched as he set down the case and picked up a Greek hardcover of Dante's Inferno. He flicked through the pages as the woman behind the stall nattered to another elderly old lady.

Without warning there was a roar as flames went up from the bakery on the other side of the plaza, utterly destroying what had previously been an idyllic, postcard moment. Following my training, I kept my rifle on target and watched as Inachis quickly flipped through the pages to where they had been hollowed out at the back. My hand darted to the collar of my t-shirt, I pressed down on the button and spoke into the radio:

"Inachis is making the exchange, do I take the shot? Over." I slowed my breathing, slipped my index finger onto the trigger and waited for orders. They never came. I caught a glimpse of a tiny metal cube being squirrelled away in the man's trouser/pants pocket and then my head exploded with pain.

It felt like something was pressing the eyes into my sockets, like they were trying to burrow into my brain. All I could do was pull myself into a ball and wait for it to pass.

As suddenly as the pain had come it was gone, but in its wake it had left something else:

'THROW YOUR RIFLE OFF THE ROOF.' Was etched into my vision in big red letters. I ignored it, I was sure I was hallucinating. Panting, I rubbed my eyes but the writing was seemingly indelible. The pain was back before I knew it, so acute that I could virtually hear it buzzing inside my head. I felt like my skull was trying to turn itself inside out. When the agony had died down enough for me to see again I held out a shaking hand and grasped the barrel of my rifle, with a delirious strength I managed to lift it above my head and cast it down into the street below. I heard an audible crunch as hardened steel smushed onto the paving stones. That helped a little; I no longer considered throwing myself off the building to stop the fire in front of my brain. The blinking line at the end of the text devoured the letters then presented some more.

'GOOD. NOW LEAVE THE BUILDING. DO NOT BRING THE RADIO.' I faltered, this command flew in the face of everything I'd been taught in both the Army and SHIELD. I did argue internally, it was not an easy decision but in the end, fearful of the torturous power this _thing_ had over me, I did as it had written.

There was a man waiting, blonde haired and broad shoulders but with a brutish, clumsy face. In complete contrast to the way he looked I could see a tiny orange wing poking up from below his polo shirt. He had a butterfly tattooed on his slightly sun burnt neck. Of course I knew what that meant, i'd seen it on tv and in case histories: he was clearly a member of Les Papillons.  
"Follow me." He commanded. I briefly considered not going and screaming for my team but before the idea had fully formed more words had flashed up.  
'THERE ARE EXPLOSIVES EMBEDDED IN YOUR FACE, DO AS HE SAYS.' I shook with remembered pain and fear. The blonde man lead me away from the marketplace and down a progressively tightening alley. No-one who'd gone past us gave a damn about two strangers walking away from a square, they cared much more about a fire that could easily spread and engulf their apartments or homes so we met no resistance.

The alley opened up to a small courtyard paved with red stones. As soon as the filigree gate had been locked behind us my arms were grabbed, pulled behind my back and a plastic tie was tightened about my wrists. I kicked out at blondie behind me but shoe never made contact with flesh. I called out for help, in English and Greek but to no avail. It was the same with my punches.

"Kneel." The man had me by the shoulders and was trying to push me down to my knees. I knew what came next, could feel the muzzle being pointed at the back of my head and heard the click of a gun being cocked. My legs had locked in place, Les Papillons could do what they wanted with me but I would not be docile or be led to the slaughter like a sheep.  
"Agent Jacobson, Private, Blackbird, Cerina." My head whipped around to an old brick archway where a woman stood, reeling off all my different names in her elegant French accent. She had shining red-gold hair and a beautiful, malevolent smile. I guessed that she was around 30.

"Vanessa Atlanta." I whispered, repaying the favour. Vanessa Atlanta is the Latin name for red admiral butterflies, its also the name of the leader of les Papillons. I think the name suited the woman well, I only ever saw her dressed in red.  
"Tres bon, mon chere." Her red lips curled. "Why don't you kneel? If I was going to kill you I could have done it on the roof."  
"That was you?"  
"Well who else would it be?" She countered with another question. I took a moment to scan the courtyard where they were holding me, it wasn't anything special, it was dusty and weeds were sprouting from between the paving stones. I looked up in time to see the woman nod. The man grabbed me and pushed me bodily to the floor, my right cheek scraped the sandy stone. Another person came down the steps on one side and walked forward. Whilst the original man squatted over me and used one hand to restrain my arms and the other to keep my head down the newcomer poured over my skin. In some places he prodded and in others he produced a torch which shone a green light.

"Ah, bon." He muttered as the light came to rest on my upper arm. "Un scalpel, s'il vous plait." At this I struggled more violently.  
"No! No! Please don't!" I wailed and thrashed. All that did was make my captor more angry which gained me a clap across the ear. That shut me up anyways.

Yet another came along baring a platter, I couldn't tell what was on it, all I heard was footsteps and a clatter as they set it down. There was a pause, then the man who had asked for a scalpel presently sliced my arm open. That wasn't the worst of it, in fact it didn't hurt too much, the blade was sharp and it was over quickly. Next he seemed to root around under my skin for something. It hurt like hell. There was one final prick of pain and it was done.  
"Et voila." The brute of a man finally got up so I got to see what the other had discovered in my arm.

He was a small man with a shrivelled, wrinkly face but wide eyes that made him look like a baby and an old man at the same time. He was holding up a little bloody chip about a quarter of an inch across and half an inch long.  
"Hate to disappoint you guys but that's just my birth control." I lied, I knew very well that it was my tracker.  
"Jean, Quoi?  
"Elle dit que c'est seulement sont contrôle des naissances." the man, Jean I presumed, who had held me down appeared to be bilingual and explained my joke to the other.  
"Ah, non. Mademoiselle, c'est un tracker GPS, c'es-" he took it seriously and started to correct me but Vanessa Atlanta cut him off.  
"Non, Matthieu, je n'a pas le temps. It's time to go, mon chere."

Matthieu deftly bandaged up my arm and with the help of the translator instructed me on how to make it heal quickly. Then I was being dragged to my feet. I felt dizzy, at first I assumed that it was the loss of blood, yet I hadn't been left to bleed for much time at all. Then it struck me, the pinch of pain must have been an injection of some sort. I turned my head to examine my arm and confirmed that there was a small puncture, that was all I had time for though because I was soon fast asleep.

-x-

Thank you to the two people who followed, and everyone who read(32)! Please, please review!

Reviews:

carey905, I did really want the first chapter to be interesting and mysterious, I hope this one lived up to your expectations.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Bruises

I can't remember the journey from Athens to a port or being taken onto the cargo ship but that definitely happened as when I awoke I was in a dingy cabin, I'd been positioned against a window, across from the blonde man who'd been waiting to take me away from the life that I'd loved.

There was a tiny little fly buzzing around next to my shoulder. It had obviously got in through the open window but was too busy panicking to see the way out. It made me think of myself, I could probably have escaped by now as well if I hadn't been so drugged up.

Across from me was blondie, he was enjoying a cigarette and grinned when he caught me looking at him. I moved my head slightly so that I could properly see out of the window, momentarily the world went dark. My head span for a long time and I felt like I would be sick, the swaying of the ship didn't help either. I could only just see land, a dark bruise on the horizon. I had no idea how long I'd been asleep and therefore could not tell if the landmass to my back was Greece or France...it could be China for all I knew.

The little green fly hit the window again, I spent about half an hour watching it's attempts to force it's way through the glass, not that it would have helped it anyway, it would probably die before it reached the mainland.

"Hey, can I have one?" I asked when my head was a bit clearer and blondie had finished lighting up another cigarette. The man took a moment to knock the ash off the end of his fresh one and then stood and leant over me to push one through my fingers.  
"How am I supposed to smoke with my hands tied?" I demanded and looked up sullenly at him.

He moved to take the roll of tobacco back off me and I flinched away. His laughter filled up the small cabin, I must have made a funny face. He held an engraved brass lighter in his thick fingered hands so I pushed it out in front of me. The cigarette twisted out of my fragile grip, the man bent down slightly to pick it up.

I took the chance he gave me and pulled up my legs to kick out. He went reeling backwards but before he could call I'd wrapped my tied hands about the glass ashtray he'd been using and brought it across in a savage arc. I cracked it across his face and he fell. Part of the glass splintered but I used what was left to smack him across the temple and knock him out. He was bleeding from the head but I didn't care. It was hard with my hands tied but I managed to search him and turned up a flick knife and a colt. I cut the tie and rubbed the red lines around my wrists, I wished I hadn't struggled so much; I had not achieved anything other than bruised knees and a grazed cheek. I checked the magazine of the gun, only five shots, I'd have to make them count.

The door was locked.  
"Shit!" I searched the man's pockets again, nothing new, although I did light myself a cigarette this time. I dragged on it and tried to calm down and think rationally then slipped the lighter in my jeans pocket. There were no other exits so I reasoned that whatever happened the door would have to open. I could wait or I could open it. I was done waiting so I stepped backwards and levelled the sight at the lock.

It took two shots to do in the lock. Three. As soon as I'd got the door open I was running down the corridor towards some stairs. There were a few shouts but I paid no attention, the drugs in my bloodstream seemed to be wearing off, or maybe it was just the adrenaline.

The next door I came to opened easily but there was a man behind it. Instinctively I squeezed the trigger. He stared at me a moment as the red flower of his life's blood bloomed on the shirt. Two. I pushed him aside and carried on.

My feet were wobbly as I sprinted up the stairs, my boots suddenly seemed too big, as though their soul purpose was to trip me up. I fell once or twice, I can't be sure either way, it was such a rush.

I felt suffocated so I was unbelievably happy when I finally got above decks. It was hot but there was a swift breeze coming off the sea which glistened in the sunlight.  
"Regarde!" Cried a man on the the tower, I caught a glimpse of a sub-machine gun resting at his hip so I bolted.  
"Trouve Madame Vanessa!" Came another voice, this time much closer. I hid behind a tower of red containers that had been stacked on the deck and waited. I shot the next person who appeared in the head and would have taken the gun he carried if I hadn't heard more footsteps approaching. One. I stuck the gun in my belt and instead pulled out the knife.

It was a lesson I'd been taught by SHIELD, keep one shot in reserve for as long as you can. It had also been something we'd joked about when on tour, unlike in most wars we weren't sure of POW rights so yeah, we kept one bullet aside.

I needed to find somewhere to hide until I found a way to get a message to SHIELD or anyone really. Below decks seemed like it might be more easy to find a place to lay low. I peered round the edge of the container and upon seeing that the coast was clear, made a beeline for a hatch that was further along, quite close to the prow. I heaved on the lever with all my strength to start with but once I got it moving it was easy to keep going. I pretty much threw myself down, I was so desperate not to be seen. I managed to crouch down as I hit the floor so it didn't hurt as much as it could have. The hatch had closed behind me so I had one less job to do.

Next I set about locating an air vent, a ship of this size must have air circulation, I prayed. I let my hearing take over now, this area of the ship was what looked like office space, full of desks and chairs and cabinets. I proceeded cautiously, ears pricked, responding to any tiny noise, be it a floorboard squeaking or a clunking pipe.

I scanned each new room as I came to it, the thing I remember most about the place was the overpowering 80s theme. I found what I was looking for in the fourth room. A white panel with vents cut in was about a quarter of the way up the wall on one side of an office with cheap vinyl flooring and a plywood desk. I had to use the edge of the blade of the flick knife to unscrew the bottom two fastenings, I hoped that the panel would swing shut after me so it would not be obvious what I had done. It was a tight squeeze through the opening, it was just big enough for my shoulders to get through if I tensed them, luckily I don't have much in the way of hips so it was easier from there. I hissed with pain as I went round the first corner in the ventilation shaft, the sharp edge of metal dug into my stomach but I forced my way past it and upwards. There was no time for thinking as I scrambled upwards, trying to find purchase on the smooth surface.

When I'd finally reached the next junction I was out of breath and my heart was pulsing rapidly. I decided to stop for a moment because when you're tired your movements become erratic and that makes noise.

I lay there for a long time, thinking through everything that had happened since I'd left my homeland. For saying that it had been my first mission I'd been remarkably relaxed, I had been in a crack team of agents who were all experts in their respective fields. Looking back on it now, knowing that they are all dead, I really feel like it should have been me. What have I done with this borrowed time? Just assisted in the deaths of others and survived by doing the opposites of the intrinsic values of SHIELD.

I recounted everything that had happened, again I saw the man slip the cube into his pocket, I squinted as I remembered the splitting feeling in my head. The only logical explanation for what had happened was that I'd been implanted with tech that was not SHIELD's or that had been hacked into by Les Papillons (or HYDRA by extension). To me the former appeared more likely, from what I knew of the intelligence agency, they didn't go around sticking bombs inside people who were supposed to be working for them. Next I thought about what the French gang had in store for me, the moments which interested me most were the ones when I thought I was going to be shot, when Vanessa asked why I wouldn't kneel and how Matthieu actually bothered to treat the cut on my arm. All of these events pointed towards them having a purpose for me, but what on earth could that purpose be? I was by no means a brilliant agent, I was on my first mission and had always been average at everything, except sniping maybe. Then I realised that could be the point, I was a newbie, my loyalty was not yet confirmed. But Les Papillon's had one sure fire way to ensure my steadfastness to their cause, a little pinch of C4 was all it took.

Just as I came to this realisation my ears picked up the soft pad of boot on vinyl. my whole body tensed. I shuddered each time I heard even the quietest sound. I could just about make out the noise of someone breathing and a constant low mechanical sound. I was extremely conscious of the noises that my own body was making. In spite of my efforts to stay still my breathing and pulse were still audible. I hoped against hope that whoever it was in the room below couldn't hear my heartbeat, _fat chance_, I thought, to me it felt like my whole chest was vibrating with the force of it.

The world was silent for a moment, even my heartbeat quietened for a second. I knew from the airless feeling of that moment that it was the calm before the storm.

The silence was followed by a deafening crash. The world shook and went off balance. Where a few seconds ago I'd been horizontal I was suddenly almost vertical, it took me a moment to realise what had happened. I'd only just figured out that someone must have pulled down the ventilation shaft when there was another ripping sound, very close to my right ear, in spite of my training and resolve I jumped and squeaked. A silver hand had pushed it's way through the metal. _Must be the drugs,_ I thought for a moment, but then I was being yanked out of my hiding place (which had been torn wide open) by a harsh, pincer-like grip. His hand was cool as he pried the knife from my grip.

Only then did I take in the appearance of my attacker. Limp, dark brown hair hung down past his ears, his eyes were light blue and slightly puffy, like he'd just been woken up. The rest of his face was covered by a black mask. This man was about half a foot taller than me but it wasn't his height, or his build that intimidated me, it was his left arm. At first I thought it could be extremely advanced Asgardian armour, all interlaced shining pieces of steel, it wasn't. It was a metal arm, judging by the red star on the shoulder it was a prime example of Soviet cybernetic engineering.

I was at a loss, I didn't even have something snarky to say- if you're reading this Romanov you'll know surprising that is. He didn't stop to survey me as I had him, instead he reached behind me, grabbed the gun and tightened his grip on my right arm to drag me back the way I'd come.

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